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Did he have a stuffed animal under there or something?
I lifted the blanket hanging over it, and my eyebrows shot upward when I found a box of some kind of chocolate milk drinks underneath the mattress.
Mick…
Milk.
Ohhh.
“You’re thirsty?” I asked him. “Hungry?”
Chubby hands grabbed two bottles of chocolate milk to his chest, and his little body shook with sadness as he sniffled. His arms stretched up onto the mattress, and he wormed his way back up to the bed.
I eased another bottle of chocolate milk out of the box, and a straw too since I had noticed a bag of plastic straws next to it.
After peeling off the tin foil covering the opening, I stuck the straw into the bottle and sat back down on the edge of the bed. He was crying against his mom, then, still holding his milk fiercely to his chest.
And now, glaring at me like I was the devil.
Guilt hit me hard. “I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t know. Here, the chocolate milk is ready.” I held it out toward him.
He eyed it suspiciously, his tears slowing as he continued glaring at me.
Wolf-Lizzy nudged the toddler gently toward the milk, and I scooted closer to him, giving him a small, tired smile and holding the milk out encouragingly.
He finally, with one last dirty look, leaned over to the milk and sucked on the straw.
My eyebrows lifted higher and higher as he chugged chocolate milk like he was in a damned drinking contest. The straw made a sucking noise when he reached the bottom of the bottle, and his face twisted in sadness again.
I abandoned the empty bottle and scrambled for another one. The lid went off, and the tin foil followed rapidly. Evan still had the straw between his sad, wobbling lips, so I just tucked the bottle beneath the straw and then lifted it up.
He sucked two-thirds of the second bottle down before his eyes started to get sleepier, and he started to drink slower.
His little arms released the chocolate milks he’d been snuggling, and he reached for the one I held.
I didn’t see any problem with handing it over, so I did.
He held it still for a moment, drinking slowly, and then started playing with the straw a little.
I leaned back against Lizzy’s wolf, my own eyes just as heavy as the little guy’s.
Suddenly, Evan got violent with the straw, yanking it out of the bottle and shaking it around, sending chocolate milk drops flying everywhere.
I reached for it, but was too slow—he shook the bottle around too, splashing the last third of the milk all over himself, me, his mom, and the bed.
Damn.
I stared at him for a long minute.
He smacked his lips, clearly happier, and snuggled up against his mom. His eyes closed, and he went back to sleep as if he wasn’t partially-drenched in whatever the hell a pediatric shake was made of.
Lizzy’s eyes were narrowed at me, like she expected me to get angry or something. I’d never been the angry type, though.
I scratched her head, and looked around the room.
My options were to wake the kid up while cleaning him—which would undoubtedly piss him off—or stick him in his crib and wash him in the morning.
I glanced over at Liz. “You’re probably going to judge me for this, but I think I’m just going to dry him off and put him back in bed.”
